October of the Stick
by Brother Mirtillo
Summary: A collection of short stories, poems, musings, and other scribbles for the season. Based off of the "31halloween" prompts on LiveJournal. Occasional swearing, not-so-random encounter violence. Chapter 17: "eyes of newt" - genre: Adventure/Friendship
1. Traveler's Pack

_When I heard of this challenge, I noticed that it was okay to use any fandom for it. This led to the question of which subject would be something I liked, but also something that would go well with supernatural forces, deadly terror, and all manner of beasties._

_The answer was fairly obvious._

_All props for non-original characters, settings, MacGuffins, that art style up top there, and whatnot go to the Giant. Otherwise, say what you like – good, bad, or ugly. I wrote this for fun and to stay limber for bigger works later. (Certain events have slowed my update schedule. Such is life, but with a comic like this, I would never abandon this story, even if it were to take until next year's Halloween to return.) Finally, each story will get its own genre tags. The main reasons why I tagged this whole set as Adventure/Horror are because of the source material's setting, plus the holiday. It's only fair._

_Happy harvest to you._

* * *

**Prompt #1 – "tombstone" (Adventure/Horror)**

"…and on calm nights, sir, you can hear them growling, hungry for fresh meat."

The guide's patron did not remove his eyes from the field ahead, despite the snow threatening to become a blizzard.

"I pray, sir, that you will not have closer evidence of this, for by then, it will surely be too late."

The wide-framed hunter snapped, "Do you _hope_ to fight these beasts?"

"No, sir. The field is entirely yours."

"Then keep your voice down, or else their first target will be you." At a shred of motion from his eye's corner, the man stopped immediately, whipped the bow from his back, drew an arrow and nocked it.

But it was only a smaller mammal scampering from one of the scattered trees a slight distance behind him, then diving into a snow-buried burrow.

On a hunch, the hunter studied the tree. Yes, a bird of some type roosted in the top.

"Approach that tree."

"Sir?"

"Drive that bird out of it."

"Go there… alone?"

"It may make a trophy, but it would be better as bait. Unless you have _another_ source to offer?"

The guide slipped a bit as he began to inch towards it. "We will die here. Our graves will be forever unmarked…"

"Shut up!" the man hissed, raising his aim. _Almost… Almost…_ But at the instant the bird left the branches, the wind kicked up ahead of him, and his shot went too high. Without breathing, he loaded another arrow and fired again on an ever so slightly different arc.

As he expected, the second arrow took his target right through the heart, and even through the intensifying snow, he relished the sight of it plummeting to earth.

"Oh, very good, sir!"

Just as the bird hit snow, a plaintive howl rent the frozen air. _What? Never heard a bird do that before._

"The wolves… It's the wolves, sir!"

"Impossible – that's far too close, we would have seen them."

"The wolves live at the edge of vision, sir…" His voice slipped back into the worn-out warnings. "Their tracks are anywhere except in front of you. They always see you before you see them…"

The hunter was already dashing past the guide towards the tree. _Can't he be quiet? Where do these stories even come from if the victims always die?_ He swung himself up into the branches, then another few feet. Not the sturdiest blind, but perhaps it would do.

Shapes… Gray shapes, loping along the ground, wary, a solid group… Now he could see the great wolves clearly, sniffing, searching…

"The wolves! AAAAHHH!" The damned guide stumbled as he turned tail and ran, churning up the snow in haste to get anywhere away from this pack.

Immediately, the wolves glimpsed the shape and speed of prey, and they growled sharply as they picked up their pace easily and unstoppably.

_That's right, he's the one you want._ The pack moved all at once, but leading and lagging paces spread them out, enough for him to be sure of the mark he'd glimpsed from the start. He passed up on the leader, the lean ones on either side, all rejected for the massive yet slower one at the back. _A mother, perhaps._

The pack bounded past his tree, heedless, and he fired right when his mark went last. It went right through the break in her bones, and she sprawled to the ground, undeniably left behind as the rest ran on, for the leader must already have cut the guide's headstart tantalizingly short.

Except they didn't run on. To a beast, they stopped and turned. Looked at her. Sniffed the air. And before his rushed fingers could grasp another arrow, they charged at the tree.

He tried to regain his aim – _take out the leader, that'll do them_ – when they rushed it, collided, clawed at it. The impact caused an unexpected rumble, and then the snow cascaded down on him from the branches above. Numb water rushing down his back, ice stinging every inch of his exposed skin, he kept his legs gripping his branch, aimed and fired. No time to see if it hit… no… notime…

_What? … Cold… Why am I… socold? Just snow…_ Then his eyes fell back down to the countless shapes milling around his puny tree, growling, gnashing, salivating, snarling… and then his head swooned, his vision shaded, and he fell down as well.

\\\

The halfling shut the heavy door firmly behind her, kicking off her claw-shaped sandals, repositioning the heavy load on her shoulders, and marching barefoot into the tunnels. _Why__… Why did you have to run north? Of all the times for the pack to wander..._

Skipping the main part of the dungeon, she chose a side hallway, winding down and around before opening to a modest crypt, evenly-lit and as fiercely clean as she could get such an underground place to be. With a grunt, she laid down her burden, and the blanket flipped back a bit to show the guide's face. She flinched, then bowed her head. _Sorry… Ever since that other guy got away, it's just been…_ She could already feel the old arguments colliding in her head. ("Don't let anyone carry a story back, unless it's one you want them to-" _no, not Girard, can't think of him now!_)

She looked back at her new neighbor, her imagination seeing the clean dagger cut in his back. _You didn't deserve this, but I hope wherever you're at now is a better fit._ She bowed again, picked up a blank headstone from her stack, then set it on the guide's chest to mark later. If the village sent any more people that didn't pick fights with her clever little pack, she'd have to expand the crypt. As for those that _did_ get involved, well…

She pulled her sandals back on, relishing another opportunity to play tricks, even if she'd be hiding the tracks anyway. The pack was definitely finished by now, and she hoped the hunter's wallet wasn't lost too badly in the fight, because darts of Strength poison weren't cheap. She also hoped he had a few arrows left intact for scavenging.

Another success for the pack deserved another trophy, and Kraagor's grave was getting too crowded for a larger prize.

* * *

**Table of Contents**

1) tombstone - Serini

2) blood - Belkar

3) bat - Mr. Scruffy

4) candy - Haley

5) jack-o-lantern - Tsukiko, Monster in the Darkness

6) pagan - Hobgoblin Army

7) leaves - Lirian, Dorukan

8) bonfire - Xykon

9) black cat - Mr. Scruffy

10) haunted house - Roy, Eugene

11) devil - Therkla, Qarr

12) witch - Julia, Eugene

13) scream - Sabine, Nale

14) werewolf - Argent

15) costume - Elan

16) games - Monster in the Darkness, O-Chul

17) eyes of newt - Enor, Gannji


	2. A Full-Bodied, Hand-Squeezed Red

**Prompt #2 – "blood" (General)  
**

Belkar found his way to the stream easily enough. Really, they'd gotten angry for no reason. Greenhilt told him to go forage, and he'd come back with an entire moose, for which he almost got some praise for once. And then Starshine went and rolled a 20 to spot the woodcutter he'd left back on the trail, the guy that had actually hunted and killed it. She quickly realized that most of the blood on their ranger had never come from a moose.

And now, here he was, forced to wash off for crying out loud. Trust a front-line fighter to get angry at kill-stealing, and this was his favorite flavor of it: first you kill them, and then you steal from them. Ah well – at least being here meant a little more time that he didn't have to spend helping them haul up the dragon treasure.

As he stripped off his cloak, armor, and tunic in his signature two-round style, he smirked to see what could have been so many fresh stains. Hell, he could barely make out the old blood. Like the tripled spatters from that hydra, or that big mark from that no-name warden. Good times.

Massaging his cloak in the stream, the clear waves became laced with red. Not quite as bright as _really_ fresh blood – no, that could get so thick you couldn't even see through the waves, just as long as you cut deep and wide enough. Then there's the wide, spraying arc you get when you just nick them right in a big vein. The jugular's an old favorite, but there's plenty of others to pick from.

But oh, that doesn't even compare to the bleeding you get in an in-your-face melee battle, when you shank the other guy once in the gut and tumble back before he can reach again. And then you get to see that queasy look dawning on his face as he realizes something's wrong, then he looks down, and almost always, you can see the burbling flow of blood pulse and relax with every heartbeat. Then he tries to put a hand over it, but it just flows right through, covering his front even worse, and oh… Do it right, and it's so beautiful, it'll make you and him both forget you've still got your daggers.

Well, for a few seconds anyway.

The bigger the other guy is, the sweeter the look on his face gets. Going for the large and the huge targets, even better. But a _dragon_? That's a Class A target right there. That kind of kill makes history.

And the first one these guys see, Ears goes and toasts it. Total injury letdown.

He wrung out his tunic and slipped it back on. Well, a kill's a kill anyway. Can't say no to free XP (although he knew the elf was behind that vomit attack somehow), and you gotta admit, a Disintegrate spell behind the back? Friggin' classic. Elf versus dragon, and the lizard-boy totally snuffs it. Awesome!

Then he shook out his cloak and let his mind wander to his own good times. Level-1 soldiers? Pfft. How about one-shotting that hag, goblins as far as the eye could see, and who knows – maybe the group would draw some robbers to their new loot. Of course he'd deal with that no problem, but that kind of fight would be sure to get Starshine all fired up too.

Completely dressed, he admired his work. Back to his original fashionable self, with just enough trace left to linger on the edge of his fine halfling sense of smell. As he waded back to shore, he absently skewered a fish, breathed deeply, then tossed it back.

These guys might be a pack of wusses, but _damn_ if this wasn't the most fun he'd had in years. He hoped it wouldn't end soon, or at least not too soon.


	3. Looking Up

**Prompt #3 – bat (Adventure/Friendship)  
**

Mr. Scruffy padded down the network of tunnels, tail held at an easy arc. Few were up and about at this time of night; those who guarded the halls stood a bit straighter when they saw him. The hairy-footed somewhat-big creature had gone to sleep, but the cat needed no help to retrace the trail. First, he went down a level and some distance along to the food stores, but these were sealed up. Then, he returned to the main hall, but this was full of taller not-Shojo creatures, and they gave him smiles but did not feed him or play with him. In fact, some seemed to prefer to stand away from him.

Boring.

He wandered back into the deeper shafts and passageways. Perhaps he should return to the somewhat-big one? He might still have that ball of string. Then a scent wafted through his nose, and he stopped, sinking low on his front paws. Closer… very close…

Rat! The rat darted out from the cracked rock and dashed down the path, with Mr. Scruffy bounding quickly in its dusty wake. Round the corners without slowing, then down and up the twisty halls and slopes, then into a much larger chamber, zigging and zagging across the floor. Inches away from the fleeing rodent, he bared his claws in a swift pounce, but the rat had gained the wall and squeezed into a crack. Mr. Scruffy batted and scrabbled at the fissure but could not reach an inch into it.

He hissed repeatedly, then eventually he sat back on his haunches to stare at the spot until the rat might dare to appear again. Seconds ticked by, then slow minutes, and his attention wandered again. He recalled, just after leaving the main chamber, the large-ish one had frightened another rat, which had also gotten away, but the other one ran alongside him that whole time. And when Mr. Scruffy gave up on trying to scratch that rat out of hiding, the other one took out a piece of metal and tried the same method. He had not succeeded either, but after that, they had gone searching until (he nearly purred at the thought) they had found a whole string of salted fish! A fine meal, and the rodents in these caves gave sport at least as good as that outside, so to have a not-Shojo who appreciated these things also, well… It was good to be a cat here, better than out in the city.

Then he heard something that tore his attention from the hole. A set of whooshes and rustles echoed from the direction of a starlit gap, shortly accompanied by some screechy squeaks. Not a mouse or rat, surely… And then the air was filled with the leathery flaps as dozens upon dozens of furry, winged creatures poured into and around the cave. He scampered back and forth, sometimes arching his back, hissing and baring a claw, but they did not approach the ground, instead flying and milling around the roof. Warily, he sank back to sitting, gazing at the utterly unfamiliar sight above.

They settled gradually into clusters, clinging to the ceiling upside down, their wings folded neatly over their lean little bodies. No more or less stringy than a mouse, although their smell matched with the material coating the floor for being less appetizing. And yet… He could not reach them, but he longed to do so. He, who had never hunted a mouse until after Shojo no longer held him or fed him such varied delights from jars and pans. He, who had seen many people stand, walk, and run in the big blue room but had never seen anything fly until the oddly-glowing not-Shojo appeared in a circle – the small and green one who talked so much. He, who dared not approach the countless metal-covered orange creatures that marched through the streets.

He sprang into the air, yowling, swiping a claw at the lot of them. Twice, a third time, after which he crashed onto the floor, skidding across the stone. He stood back up quickly, brushed his nose off, then resumed his poise and sauntered out of the chamber, tail held up again.

He did not know how to hunt these new mice. But for now, he would sleep, and he would find a way. Perhaps the other one would know, the one with hairy feet and metal claws, who sniffed for fish and ran quickly.

Yes, sleep for now, and he or the Bigger Cat could find some new hunting in the morning.


	4. Learning the Ropes

**Prompt #4 – candy (Family)  
**

Her chance had finally arrived. Daddy hadn't even left his office for dinner, and Mommy was "balancing the books," which seemed especially difficult to the little red-headed girl with pigtails as she scurried down the stairs. Struggling with her tiny knapsack, she peeked around corners before proceeding, ducking back if people were looking. The big group arguing about guard duty presented some trouble, but she kept her back to the wall, inching along to reach last corner to-

"Evening, Haley!"

"Aah! Oh, um, hi Pete, uh… hi." She smiled as easily as she could until the towering, balding archer nodded at her and continued on his way. Then she scurried the rest of the way down the hall, ducked inside the dining area, and made a beeline for the door in the far corner.

Reaching up, she had to shove hard against the pantry door, and she guided it back ever so carefully, leaving just enough of a crack to let light from the room in, wishing again that she could have gotten a candle. Still, she proceeded with some confidence, only tripping a bit over one squooshy bag (_rice, I think_) before reaching the corner she knew she wanted.

Her eyes adjusted, and she could just make out the stack of flat boxes so very high up. In each one of those were chocolates of every shape and size, full of peanuts and caramel and strawberry cream and she didn't even know what else. Mommy had bought twenty of them from those bigger girls with funny hats that came to the door, and Daddy had stepped out then came back with ten more before Mommy took a closer look at her change. She could practically smell them, sweet and dark scents wafting through the dusty smells of potatoes, flour, onions and salt much closer to her level.

A glint in her eyes adding to her smile, she slipped off her knapsack and fished out a long rope. Putting the pack back on, she tugged the nearest box (apples, wasn't it?) out from its spot under the first level. Or at least, she made it a few inches before catching her breath, but that would be enough. Clambering up, she got onto the first shelf. Next, she heaved her pack over her head and onto the next shelf up. Then, she looped her rope around the shelves' support column that ran from the floor to the top. (The rope's ends both coiled on the floor. Perhaps it was a bit long.)

Last, gripping the rope on either side of the support column, she pulled and pulled. She tried pushing her feet against the column and climbing up that way, but they slipped as she tried to kick her way up. Finally, she clamped both feet around it, pulling with her arms and legs as best she could until she had her head over the next shelf. Quickly, she let go of the rope to snatch at the second-level section of column, then realized her other hand was now on a rope no longer held in place by anything, and he grabbed the column with her other hand, gripping for dear life.

Gritting her teeth, pushing with both feet together, inch by inch, she pushed herself up and over until she got her elbows and midsection up. That made it easier to push the rest of her up. She panted for breath, uncomfortably squeezed between clusters of packages (sugar and peanut butter, apparently) but not moving an inch.

As soon as she was ready, she worked herself around until she could poke her head over the edge. The rope had fallen but was still caught on the first shelf's level. She reached into her bag and took out a smaller rope with a paper clip stretched into a hook glued on the end. Feeding out the line but by bit, it took a few swings, but she finally snagged her main rope and hauled it up.

Just one more shelf, but this was much higher than the other. This time, her bag yielded a dictionary and a history book, and she stacked them up, adding a sack of sugar when she felt she could use some more height. Then she stopped and thought. This time, she tied one end of her rope to another of the sugar sacks, leaning as many other sacks on it as she could. Clambering onto her pile, she threw the rope around the final higher column. She wiped her sweating hands off, gripped the rope, and climbed again.

This time, she used her feet together continuously, first pulling her torso up, then inching her hands up, then her feet, one after the other after the other. She closed her eyes, refusing to make a sound, pulling and pushing and climbing. And then, her hands felt the flat underside of wood, and she opened her eyes to see the green and white boxes inches before her eyes! She'd done it! And they really did smell so nice, like cherries and mint and that one must be coconut… She reached one hand up and tugged a box out of the stack.

And with a fibrous scrape, the rope came loose from the sugar sack.

"Whaa!" Her hands flew back unchecked, her arms waved wildly, and her feet and legs lost their grip as she tipped back, slipping away and plummeting—

She hit the floor with a scrunch, landing on one of the granular bags that had only yielded slightly. A shock ran from her spine to her fingers and feet and head, and she held only a quavering gasp before her eyes screwed shut and her mouth opened in a keening, wailing cry.

A door flew open, light pierced her closed eyelids. "Aw, sh- nuts!" A pounding of feet. "You, kid… Hank, whatever! Get Ian and Mia! Move it!" Seconds later, a shadow fell over her. Someone prodded her neck, her arms and legs, probably softly but it only made her bawl more. Instead, the voice stroked her hair and whispered, "It's all right, dearie. Your papa's coming."

_Pete…_ But trying to stop crying only made it shudder like a wave.

More thundering feet, a chair thrown aside. "My gods!"

"Da- Dadd- daddy!"

"It's all right, Kitten. It's all right, you're okay…" He examined her limbs more softly, and this time, it didn't hurt at all. Tenderly, he cradled her head and legs and lifted her to him. "You're okay…"

"Haley! Ian, what happened?" Her mommy was there, brushing the hair from her drenched eyes, but she kept her eyes closed and her head on her daddy's shoulder. Her crying became muffled, and the relief in both her parents' voices edged into her own ears. Slowly, partially, she reduced to chokes and sniffling as her mother took her turn to cradle her and carry her out of the shadowy room.

\\\

She was still grounded for another couple of days, but her mommy allowed her to stick around after dinner for this one night.

"Happy birthday, Ian!" thundered the rest of guild.

There was a lot of pounding on the back, some suggestions that he'd be old and gray in no time, and she smiled brightly as her mommy held him on one side, and she held his hand on the other. He opened a couple gifts, but rather soon, Haley nudged him and said, "The yellow one, daddy. Open that one."

He chuckled, "Well now, who could've given me that?" He gave a good struggle against loosely-folded and overtaped paper, lifting off the lid to find a cloud of tissue paper concealing—

"What the-" "That supposed to be a _pirate_ hat?" "Aye, we got ourselves Captain Starshine now!"

Ian held up the folded piece of paper, somewhat hat-shaped, a bit lopsided and wrinkled, a crayon face with lines radiating from it scribbled on one side. Then he set it on his head at a jaunty angle, gave an "Arrgh!", and took a swig from his mug to a wave of laughter. One-handed, he hoisted his little girl up onto his lap and kissed her right on the cheek. He murmured, "Thank you, Haley. You're the best first mate a captain could ask for."

She giggled and hugged him tightly, his orange beard tickling her face.

Her mother leaned over and hugged the both of them, but not long after that coaxed her away on the cause of accelerated bedtime. All too soon, she was bundled into bed, and with a smiling kiss on the nose, her mother whispered, "You're a good girl, Haley. You're _our_ good girl."

She snuggled down into her blankets. "I love you, too, Mommy. G'night." Her mother closed the door gently on the way out, but she didn't close her eyes. She waited, staring at the door, barely breathing.

It was an eternity, but the voices of her parents finally echoed along the hall.

"-herself this year, Mia, and don't you think this would look perfect on our dresser?"

"Oh no, honey. I think it would look much better on your desk."

"My desk? Dear, I'm not sure there's space for—"

"Then I'll have it framed and hung. No, you don't – give it here, I'll put it there now."

One pair of feet moved away, and Haley opened her door a crack.

Her father was already looking towards her.

"So you liked my gift, Daddy?"

"That I did. It was very… thoughtful." He was still holding the box, and he reached inside, dug all the way to the bottom, and pulled out three moderately-long pieces of knotted rope.

They were basic bowline knots, but he'd still made her practice dozens of times. Only when she held one end and he could lift her up by it did he give that faintest hint of a smile. "And the rest of it, daddy?"

"What rest of it? There wasn't any rest of it." Seeing her confused and worried face, he ruffled her hair. "Even this much is more than enough. Thank you, Kitten." He raised her chin with a finger… then tapped her ear and held out the two chocolates.

"Wha— Daddy!"

"Look at that, another wrapped present! Oh, they do look good, don't they? But you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

She couldn't keep from grinning, thinking of the third one.

He popped one into his mouth, then slipped the other into her palm. "Make sure you brush your teeth extra well," he whispered.

"Okay," she whispered back.

He guided her back to bed, tucked her back in. "Good night, Haley."

Back in the dark, Haley snuggled the pillow and smiled as she drifted off to sleep. _Happy birthday, Daddy. And wait'll you see what I do in two more days._


	5. No, They Do Not

**Prompt #5 – jack-o-lantern (Hurt/Comfort)  
**

Tsukiko half-stomped and half-fled down the dungeon stairs, barely slowing to duck into one especially musty door. ("Keep Out! Under Pain of Experimental Necromancy!") Only when she had shut herself inside did she stop, trembling as she leaned against the door and slumped to a low sitting position. _It just— It just isn't fair…_

The troops had cracked another storehouse, and she'd been overjoyed to find not just another magic item, but several bottles of incenses and perfumes, genuine Western continent imports. She'd only ever seen this stuff in catalogs with rather oversized pictures. Her fourth magical academy had threatened to expel anyone wearing it! Naturally, she'd set the whole case aside and prepared to give another status report. Maybe more than one. Plus overtime...

It took several conversation starters, several dozen half-choked hobgoblins, and absolutely zero eye contact from her dear ruler before Redcloak pulled her aside and told her she might as well take her little Cloudkill research project back downstairs, because Xykon wouldn't be noticing anything this side of the afterlife.

Holding her knees, she choked back a few wet sniffs and wiped her eyes off as best she could. _Well, anyone could have forgotten that liches have no sense of smell._ Swallowing, she pushed herself back to her feet. "D— dancing Lights."

The simple spheres of light brightened the room, but not too much. Just enough for her to make out the soothing shapes of the heads, bodies, and faces all around her. Every few feet along the wall ran a set of metal platforms stacked like shelves, as solid and durable as she could find. On each shelf lay the remains of one of her babies. As she walked to each one, she felt the usual pang that some were incomplete and would always remain so (…_teach those worms not to use fire on _my_ darlings…_), but this melted into the background as she gazed between the parts that she still had.

Every single one of them still had its head; it would just have been wrong to leave any of that behind. The back of her mind remembered them as reformed hunters, farmers, students... but as she looked at each one in turn, she thought, _poor Kyosuke and Carly, dear Ysabell and Mort, my little Pip and Tom…_ Each one, taken away before their time. Here, she could shed tears of loss, and her remaining children would not have to see. Though she had lost these, they always reminded her of so much she could yet do for the rest. Walking reverently down the aisles, she could never forget them, Aliph and Hannah and Wanda and—

"What the hell is this?!"

Out in the corridor, the umbrella-toting monster paused in mid-step and mid-whistle at the sound of the shriek piercing the door. Seconds later, the door flew open, and Tsukiko glimpsed him, sputtering her words.

"You, do you know how in Rat's filthy bowels this _thing_ got here?"

"Oh, you found Jack!"

"I- wha- _Jack?_" She looked back down at the hollowed-out pumpkin in her hands. It was about the size of her head, and there was a face carved into one side. Or rather, there were a couple of mismatched triangles above a semicircle. "You named your… carving Jack?"

"Yeah! He looks like a Jack, doesn't he? Or maybe a Gordon…"

"But why is he—_it_ here? And why is the inside glowing?"

"Well, I know you said it was your private room, and I shouldn't even have looked inside, but I really thought it was so dark and gloomy in there – and boy, do I know dark. So then I thought, some color would be really nice, and it could be okay if it's a head, 'cuz you collect them so much. So I looked for something to carve, and… and, well, I wound up in the kitchens, I do that a lot, and then I made Jack there."

"But… the glowing?"

"Oh, it did that as soon as I started carving. Those mean old cooks wouldn't let me borrow their knives, so I borrowed yours. Maybe I shoulda washed it off first."

"You used—that's my best potion-making knife!"

"But I washed it off real good afterwards, I promise! And I put it right back!"

She shoved the luminous pumpkin into his grasp. "Get that thing out of here! And you, get out, out, _out!_ Never come anywhere near here again!"

The thunderous slamming door made the monster wince. "Aw, shoot… See, that's why I think she could use a colorful face around her." He looked wistfully at his carving, then got an idea and held it close to his chest.

The glow didn't reveal anything.

"Aw, _shoot!_ Oh well – sorry, Jack. Now what do I do?" Eventually, he sniffed the air, his stomach burbled, and he raised the pumpkin up a bit, but the face was pointed right at him. "Ooh, I can't do it." But soon, he shrugged, cheered up a bit, and trotted over to the stairs, whistling softly again. "I wonder if wights like pumpkin heads?"


	6. Evdevilism

**Prompt #6 – pagan (Parody)  
**

Garavak loved to travel. Nothing compared to the rush from the wind whistling through the Southern Mountain crevasses and the breathtaking views from its heights. Still, even he had to admit a feeling of comfort when he cleared the last ridge and beheld _the_ settlement nestled in the valley. He cinched his laden backpack more squarely onto his shoulders and marched down the trail. Just before he could see the walltop guards, he took off his knitted cap and scarf, revealing his orange skin, protruding ears, and giant lower fangs.

It didn't stop a couple of the guards from snickering at his boots and coat.

Plodding through the rows of huts was easier. No one wandered around at this time of afternoon unless they were messengers. He smelled bread baking, heard the clangs of hammers on armor, the occasional cry of an infant. Not until he reached his barracks did he see—

"Lo, the prodigal soldier returns!"

He stopped dead. _Aw, hell._ At least half a dozen folks, all between him and the door.

The other blue-cloaked one in front spoke up. "Or has he merely returned so that he might lock himself away with his articles of temptation?"

The first one broke back in, "Brothers and sisters, hear me, for I do fear for this hobgoblin's soul!" With sounds of _mm-hmm_ and knowing head shakes, they approached him.

Garavak tried to stay calm and avoid eye contact with the condescending Hobgoblin #668, not to mention his enthusiastic somewhat-senior, Hobgoblin #667. He shuddered to think how their boss would've handled this if he hadn't fumbled that outreach mission to the ogres last year.

"This comrade of ours has wandered far – yea, wandered from his true commanding officer!"

"He has been with the enemy, yes, he has—"

"For is it not written that we must strike down those who are not of our lineage, that we shall not suffer them to shadow our doors?"

"But he enters their houses," (the group scowled) "speaks their languages" (gasps) "and buys what they sell!"

A few others even threw their hands to the skies as 667 continued, "He deserts us, when we are pressed on every side, in need of every sword! He steps upon the flags of our fathers! He tramples the food of our mothers into the dirt, to taste the foul concoctions of the halflings, the dwarves, the _humans!_"

668 stage-whispered at his ear, "Even the _elves_, and some say that food is not all that he tastes."

At this, their subject nearly swung a fist, but he felt a hand clawing at his backpack. He spun away, only for the nimbler junior cleric to seize it. "Let us see what he has scavenged this time. More whiskey from the dwarves, vegetable seeds from the gnomes, or bread from the elves?"

The crowd held their breath as he pulled out a wrapped package and sniffed it.

"Human," he spat. He held one end and let the wrappings unravel to drop—

–a shower of salt, encasing a forearm and hand.

"The monkey tried to rob me before I was an hour out of town," said Garavak, keeping his voice level. "I've barely needed to touch my travel rations."

Silence, and then the group gave a chorus of "Oh, yeahs" and "mm-hmms" with smiles and raised fists.

The other cleric called, "It is good, my brothers and sisters, but it is barely a beginning! Together, my comrades! Together, let us light the torch within our fellow hobgoblin." He took out a thick book and pressed it into the unfeeling hands. "Take the word of our true general, and join us this week at our council. Let his orders resonate in your heart and lead your march back to us!"

The other cleric snuck in another book. "Perhaps the Bugbear translation, to provide a refreshing perspective."

"Pray for him, my comrades! Now let us go forth, to raise the banner and spread the word!"

Their well-wishes, their half-sad looks, and finally their footsteps gradually passed him by. He picked up his parcel and proceeded up to his quarters. Really, the stuff those guys spouted almost made sense coming from their leader, back when they actually had someone with Charisma _and_ Wisdom. Now they've got one guy with nothing but the one, and another guy only with the other. Whack jobs like those were the reason people hated them all so much, why he couldn't even show his face. If they'd just try to build up the goblin people around the other races instead of over top and straight through…

Argh, this kind of stuff gave him a headache every freaking time. Although if they really _had_ found out about her (she'd only arrived from the Elven Forest three months ago, how could they?)… He shuddered. Maybe it was time to give Mom and Dad a call, catch up, see if they had any suspicions.

He sighed, unlocked the door, and entered his room, his sole private space.

He nearly broke his neck slipping on the pamphlets crammed under the door.


	7. Stem, Vein, and Blade

**Prompt #7 – leaves (Adventure)  
**

She had ignored the whistles and calls from the more noisy passers-by among the shadowy tents. Likewise, she had remained calm when the merchant tried to persuade her to take a price above her maximum. (It had taken a few tries for Girard to explain how to haggle at all, never mind properly.) And she did not mind the baking hot sun in the least.

It was only when she glimpsed the spray of green and a different tan that she turned her head.

There it stood, a palm tree on the edge of the settlement. The blond elf immediately strode over to it, reaching and stroking its trunk. To someone else, it might seem dried and fragile, but she could feel its tense strength. She whispered to it, "Do not worry. I sense that rain is not far in the future. Your time will come."

She gazed up into its heights, sunlight shining through the green leaves. This desert was a far cry from her home, and she felt the long-buried pang of having left. But it was her duty to do so. For now, this would be a reminder of why she fought, of what she would defend.

"Lirian?"

She started, felt a bit of warmth in her stomach, and turned. Her fellow combat caster stood there, his yellow robe already frayed and dusted with the sand. She smiled a bit at how many times he had tried emptying his shoes already. "Have you found the spell components you sought, Dorukan?"

"Yes, of course, now can we get going again?" Then he saw her lingering hand, and his irritation fell away. "That is, when you're ready. Teleportation can wait."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and ever so slightly caressed the bark beneath her fingers. With one last glance towards the palm's crown, she turned and joined the wizard in ambling westward.

"If you are worried about your home, I have some extra scrying spells—"

"Thank you, but you should save those. We must be completely ready for the battle ahead." She hesitated, then reached to take his hand, just for a second. "Perhaps _after_ we secure the rift, we will have time to reflect."

She saw the glint in his eyes, and he held his palm to hers throughout that same second. "Oh, we'll do that. Definitely."

They wove through the tents until they saw petite Serini glimpsing them and excitedly waving them forward, lanky Girard leaning on a pole and taking in the view, compact Kraagor breathing rhythmically and testing his axe's edge, and solemn Soon praying with eyes closed. Lirian felt her pulse quicken and senses heighten as the thirsty wind, searing sun, shifty earth, and patient plants whispered around her.

Oh yes. They would fight, and they would win, and no force on the planet would stop them.


	8. Fahrenheit 40d12

**Prompt #8 – bonfire (Horror)**

Brother Tannickers closed the door carefully behind him. Striding across the great room, his steps whispered on the carpeted floor, leaving little to echo from the high-vaulted stone ceiling. At length, he reached his favorite spot not far from the dark window. He set his burning lamp down very carefully on the desk before turning to his well-worn chair.

The side table nearly groaned under the weight of his latest manuscripts, the night was still young, and he had a large mug of his favorite tea to ward off the chill. He paused to breathe in the dusty and close-together smell of the library, then settled his scrawny, middle-aged body down into his crackling chair and lifted down the first tome.

The explosion from behind launched him screaming through the air, skidding to the ground with his chair landing atop him. Shards of glass showered the room with tinkling crashes, and burning fragments of wood and stone pelted him and his little shell.

"Knock, knock – anyone home?" A whoosh of wind heralded a figure soaring through the windowspace, landing in view of the huddled monk.

He peeked his eyes up from behind his hands to see a wrinkling old man in a blue robe with red cloak.

The man grinned as the nearest shelf of books groaned and collapsed, avalanching tomes and pages across the carpet. "Sorry about the mess. I should have made an appointment, but the receptionists here are really picky about the visiting hours."

The trapped man gasped quick, wheezing breaths. His eyes focused and unfocused on this unthinkable face, while his mind held no words except _Dear gods… dear gods… the abbot will be furious…_

The thump of stairs sounded outside the door, which flew open to reveal two strapping, tall acolytes. "Dear Brother!" "Intruder, what business have you—"

"Hey," retorted the man, pointing a finger. "No talking in the library."

A deafening concussion, a searing light, and the bolt of lightning skewered both the young ones to the hallway's wall. It cut out, leaving the monk clutching his ears in horror as the two of them, eyes unseeing and skin smoking, slowly peeled away from the masonry and crumpled to the floor.

"So, where was I?"

The man opened his mouth over and over before managing, "Dear gods above, _what do you want?_"

The old man strolled over to the surviving shelves. "Eh, nothing much. Just flew into town, heard Cliffport was the place to be for top spell-slingers to pick up some extra gear." He ran a hand along the spines, half-consciously tipping books onto the ruined floor with a series of thumps, _one_ by _one_ by _one_ by…

"I—I don't understand… Gear?"

"Yeah, you guys are the big authorities on fancy-schmancy tools and tricks, right? Cutting edge and all that?" Now he trod on them… _Thump-crackle… thump-thump-rip… thump- riiipppp…_

"Sir, I don't know what… I am an archivist! I am not a craftsman!"

The man paused. No one breathed. Then the man slowly turned around, eyes lowered in skepticism. "So you collect books? As in, _only_ books?"

A quick nod.

"No accessories, no jewels, not even any clothes?"

Shaking head.

"You're supposed to be some big-shot magic academy history guy! Top-notch collection of items and artifacts! Not some dusty-robe flea-market bookseller!"

His skin still ran cold from fright, his arms quaking with the shocks of the wreckage. But at this, his world swam, and he pushed himself up. _Flea market?! _His palms stang and bled, grinding glass into the floor, but he got to his feet and managed, "This archive represents the most comprehensive histories of human development on the continent! I am Fyron Tannickers, and I am its—"

"Fyron! Yeah, that's you, you're the guy!"

"Sir, you are mistaken! We do not collect baubles and trinkets here. If it is magical artifacts you seek, then you seek the academy on the opposite end of the city. And I believe you are looking for Fyron Pucebuckle, its librarian!"

"Oh… well, damn. Guess I'll just have to finish up here then." He stepped closer, and black energy began curling around his fingers.

All at once, the chills and shakes returned to Fyron's limbs. His lungs constricted, his eyes grew wide, and he stammered, "Mercy, sir! Please spare me!"

"Nah."

Convulsing, his legs collapsed under him, "I—I can give you anything from this place! Many unique, priceless texts!"

"Who cares?" His hand swirled with sparks of electricity.

"Books of magic! Magic that any wizard would dream of having!"

The old man stopped. His face went blank. "_Any_ wizard?"

The words poured forth. "Every school of magic there is, sir, we have researches dating back for centuries, some techniques so experimental they have never been published, and some so powerful that they were utterly buried, and I know where every single one of them is, and with these, you could be ever so much stronger, and I can easily get them for you and no wizard would ever be able to duplicate you, you would be the greatest wizard to—"

"Mass Hold Person."

He froze. His hands remained outstretched, and he tottered on his knees before slowly and finally toppling, a statue of supplication. His eyes remained fixed, but a shadow fell over him. His skull shrieked in silent agony as his hair was yanked up and the old man forced him into fresh eye contact.

"My name is Xykon the sorcerer. You and all your research can burn in hell."

His thin breaths gasped between stone lips, failing even to plead.

And then, the man's piercing glare softened and his eyes lit up into that impossible smile. "Better yet…"

Fyron fell heavily to the floor again. The man kicked him until his back was to the wall, then the fallen man watched from below as the sideways sorcerer brought the two assistants from the hallway to the center of the room. A flick of his fingers, and another shelf groaned and collapsed onto the two of them. Dust strangled the stricken man, and tears remained trapped behind his swollen eyeballs. Another flick, another groan, and a crash of ripping bindings and papers.

One by one, the man strolled around the room and crushed every shelf in the entire archive. A complicated motion, and the books crumpled and skidded into a gigantic heap. Then he walked back to his audience member.

Fyron's mind flinched away from the unhurried footsteps, sought to hide its gaze as long as possible, but the man effortlessly launched him to the very top of the heap.

"Wait, almost forgot – we'll need some fresh air."

An unseen explosion, and fist-sized stones battered his skull and torso. Head towards a stripped wall, he saw them scatter and felt a trickle of blood oozing from one temple.

"Too bad about the mix-up, buddy. But hey, at least now you won't have to worry about cleaning this place up anymore." A crackle of magic, a whoosh of a rising figure…

Fyron never heard that voice again. But gradually, he heard additional crackles, quickly followed by pops and hisses, slowly getting louder, then becoming more rapid. As soon as he smelled the smoke, it thickened until he ached to cough or choke instead of struggling to gasp.

The heat rose up, all on one side. His flesh grew warm, his blood seared throughout his body, and he could feel the skin on that half become tight. The smoke now covered his vision completely, and as his brain reeled and swam, he silently begged that he might slip into merciful oblivion first.

Slowly, the blackness shrouded his eyes. The last thing he saw was orange and yellow flickering rays illuminating his entire world behind and through a veil of smoke. The last thing he smelled was the billowing odor of roasting meat.


	9. Felines, Nothing More Than Felines

**Prompt #9 – black cat (Adventure/Romance)**

Sneaking out the hotel window had been easy. It wasn't much longer before Alexandra found what she was looking for. The cluster of street cats slunk along streets, away from the crew preparing the next day's parade route. Their fur was filthy and far patchier than her black coat, but she could see their wiry muscles.

The tan and black one in front glimpsed her, and the group immediately approached and fanned out before her. The leader hissed and bared a claw at all the others. They looked away, and he turned to her.

She sat back, looking past and around him.

The leader growled, crouched forward, then bounded forwards. With a yowl, he leapt straight at her.

She caught him and rolled, diverting his momentum aside and throwing him to the ground.

Her victim jumped back up, spitting and hissing before dashing into another pounce.

This time she rolled herself backwards and kicked all her feet out, sending him flying up and over.

The other cat hit the ground, thrashing about in the dust with the effort to stand. Slowly, he got up, but she had seen her Mistress cast enough fatal spells to recognize a creature outmatched. _Too easy, really._

Then a simple meow made them turn. A plain white cat padded into the circle, then stopped and took a close look at her. Like the others, his nose twitched, and he gave a low growl.

The tan and black scrapper yowled louder, rearing back a clawed paw for a slash.

Without looking, the white one jabbed a paw right into its eye. Before the other could screech properly while clutching its face, the white one turned slightly, lashed out, and cut a deep gash across the mangy one's midsection.

The former leader whimpered a bit before finally falling over. The rest of the cats didn't even wait two seconds before fleeing the scene.

Alexandra gaped at the white one, then shut her mouth and half-smiled. Resisting a purr, she turned a wide circle and dashed down an alley. Scraps of garbage flew in her wake, and she could hear over her softer paces the skitter of the white cat's pursuing bounds.

A wall loomed ahead, but she didn't slow down. Gauging the shape and size, she leapt up at the masonry, bounded off it to the adjoining wall, then bounced again to clear the top, dropping to the opposite side with an easy skid.

The white cat fell straight in front of her (_Did he jump straight over the wall?_) and set her dashing off again.

This time, she darted aside through one of Bleedingham's biggest livestock yards. Weaving through the hairy, filthy forest of camel legs, she zigged and zagged at seeming random, leaping occasionally so her claws could nick legs just enough to trigger maddened bellowing and stomping. Only when she ducked through the far fence did she look back.

The white cat sprang from the dust cloud, and she could almost swear his tail had come within an inch of being flattened.

Market district, bleakly official buildings, then finally more residences. Glimpsing a promising sign, she ran behind a row of water troughs. As soon as the pursuing scritches joined her, she darted aside and under the woodwork, crossing the road swiftly until she gained a group of trash cans. The quickly-adjusting chaser had fallen behind enough for her to leap atop the stack. Just as the other went into a leaping crouch, she reached the overhanging lip of the half-open can, and her weight tipped it, opening a gaping and foul-smelling maw to swallow her pursuer.

She screeched at the impact as something smashed into the lid so hard that it launched both lid and her clear from the stack. She hit the pavement hard, the lid smacked her and bounced away, and the white cat was on her instantly. The two of them scuffled and hissed, wrestling and rolling over and over.

Finally, the white cat pinned her throat to the sidewalk with one soft paw, pinning the rest of her by sitting. His eyes burned into hers, and they both gasped for breath.

She could feel his pulse and warmth, especially where his lower half gripped hers. Mostly, she remained still, but her tail convulsively thrashed in the dirt. Faintly, she meowed, "What… what kind of familiar _are_ you?"

The white cat purred, leaned in, and nipped her neck. "I'm no familiar. I run with a ranger."

Over many minutes, piercing yowls could be heard echoing throughout the street until someone finally leaned out a window and threw a shoe.


	10. Guess Who's Coming For Dinner?

**Prompt #10 – haunted house (Family/Horror)**

The horse-drawn carriage pulled to the road's side, and the last two teenagers left riding it stood up. The tall guy with the bulging backpack leapt down first and raised a hand towards the girl with him, but she had already dismounted easily, so he turned it into a nonchalant head-scratch. As the cart pulled away, they proceeded into the neighborhood, each occasionally glancing sidelong at each other.

Still, neither spoke for some distance until he cleared his throat. "So, uh, Anna… you're sure your folks don't mind us working at my place? It could be a little while, I'd hate for you to have to walk home after dark."

She poked him in the side. "I'm not the one who got shoved in a broom closet three times the first week of school."

"Hey, I broke out of there. Eventually."

"And ran right into the principal." She laughed at his flustered look. "I can handle a couple of miles, even in the dark."

"Well, my mom wouldn't have any problem with you staying for dinner, but I know she'd get to wondering about you after that, so maybe, I could walk you home. If it comes up."

She brushed back a strand of hair. "Thanks, Roy."

He walked a little lighter now. Only last week, he'd picked up her dropped sketch of herself as a cloaked rogue, slinking between dark buildings. At the sight of him holding it, she had almost hit him with her algebra book, and then he handed it back and dug out his own back-of-the-notepad doodle, featuring himself slaying a horde of trolls.

The school's honors track featured small classes with big ambitions, always about futures as all-knowing wizards or unbeatable druids. It felt nice knowing something no one else did.

"So you said your mom might be making jambalaya?"

"Oh, I hope she is, I—"

They had reached the last cul-de-sac, and before them stood a decrepit mansion, throwing long and elusive shadows from the half-clouded afternoon sun. At least three stories tall, its wooden shutters swung and creaked, smacking into the crumbling gray façade. The siding flaked with mildew and rot, its wraparound porch's columns cracked under thorny vines, and the breeze whistled plaintively through shattered windows.

Roy put a hand over his face. "Not this already…"

"Is that…"

"Yeah, this is my dad's routine. Why he started early this year, I don't know. Come on." They walked up, and Anna even gave a little snicker at the setup.

As soon as they stepped onto the front lawn, a chorus of aching moans and groans resounded from all directions. Flashes of light, complete with green and gray mist, flickered from the odd window. All at once, a swarm of well over a dozen ghosts and phantoms fled from every opening, milling and soaring about the sky.

"See, just like I told you. Every year, it's the—"

A small explosion made them both jump, and a geyser of soil pattered across the grass as something burst from the earth a few yards ahead. A clawed hand reached up, followed by another and a lolling head that slowly shook the soil away from its gaping, black eye-spaces.

"Is… is that a freaking _raccoon?_"

"Roy… Roy, you never said there would be… be zombies. Those aren't ghosts, they're… they're…" She stepped back, clutching her stomach and sweating.

More bursts of earth all around – gaunt rats, drooling dogs, one-eared cats. They snarled and gnashed their teeth, some of them crawling ever so slowly across the turf on their broken and distorted legs.

"No, no, it's fine – keep breathing, it's fine." _Gods above, how could Dad forget about last year?_ He bent and picked up a rock. "It's all part of the illusion." He turned to pick a target.

The beasts were still some distance away, but movement from the roof approached far quicker. With at least five-foot wingspans, a flock of vultures swung lazily over the group, wheeling in wide circles. Their half-feathered wings were caked with filth, and their pitted heads weaved side to side, surveying the huddled pair with unblinking eyes. The biggest one swung lower, croaking… croaking…

"Just a stupid illusion," Roy muttered, and he threw the rock.

It smacked into the vulture's skull, whipping the head upwards. But the head – no, _half_ the head – swung back down to look at them, and fragments of beak and meat showered down around them. The vulture half-croaked again. _Urk… urk… urk…_

Anna buckled and threw up, choking as the slopping contents spattered then slowly dripped across the lawn.

"Oh gods, are you—"

"Don't touch me!" She threw his hand from her shoulder, wiped her mouth and backed away. "Look, I'll… I'll see you at school, all right?" Glaring at the house, she made a gesture not found in many exorcism texts, then turned and marched away.

Roy stared after her for a while, mouth agape. Then he stomped towards the house, pausing only long enough to punt a limping squirrel out of his path and across the yard.

The front door slammed open, leading into a clean and modestly furnished hallway, and he could hear laughter coming from the lit kitchen. Entering, Roy realized why there were two voices – at one side of the table sat his bald and green-robed father, Eugene Greenhilt, and at the other was a dark-brown-haired man with a mustache, armor, and a blue cloak and holy symbol. "Oh… Hey, Uncle Myrtok."

"Hahaha… Hey there, Roy. How've you been, big guy?"

"I'm fine, I—"

"So?" broke in the wizard. "Did it work? Were you frightened to the very depths of your soul?"

"I didn't expect the zombies."

"The what? Oh, oh yeah, Myrtok thought they'd add to the scene, but how were the _ghosts_, boy?"

"I mean, after last summer, how could a guy _not_ notice zombies?"

"Eh?" Myrtok wiped his eyes, his smile slipping into a bit of puzzlement. "What did you do last summer?"

Eugene waved a hand, "Oh, uh, it was, uh… just the next valley over ran into a bit of trouble. Nothing, really."

Roy swiped some fruit and dinner rolls from the counter. "Sure. By the way, your little show was a big hit with Anna. You know, from the next valley over."

Myrtok's confusion slowly sank into a faraway stare.

Roy stomped out of the kitchen, up to his room, and locked the door. _Gods, I hate the Samhain festival._


	11. The New Hire

**Prompt #11 – devil (Supernatural)**

He stood in his office, gazing out the grand windows towards the bleak plains beyond the city walls. Azure City was truly a mine in the midst of waste, and he stood above so much of it, exercising his whim as surveyor, planner, sower and (on occasion) reaper. Ever so much occurred by his hand, even if generally by proxy.

Just then, a noise rustled behind him. Not the door, not a footfall. Instead, it was of fabric brushing carpet, and it was quite close. "Master."

"The messenger was more prompt than I expected, Therkla." He turned to see the purple-clad ninja kneeling behind him. Her green ponytail showed rather more easily than the pale green skin of her closed eyes. "I scarcely dispatched him five minutes ago."

"I saw him leave your office, master. The movement of his gossiping lips told me all."

"Have you heard why I sent him?"

"Would he know the details better than you could tell me?"

Kubota stood solemnly, then smiled through his long mustache and patted his servant on the shoulder. "Rise, Therkla. This is not the usual undertaking today. No, it is a social moment."

She rose to her feet, but her brow did not clear. "Social, sir? Involving me?"

"Indeed. Today, we have a new ally. He shall be your opposite number from this day forth."

"What? But… but master, does this mean you have found a better ninja than I am? _No one_ could maintain that claim, or ever has!"

"True. But no, his expertise is of another path. Qarr! Greet your new ally!"

The air popped a foot in front of her face, and in that spot appeared a six-inch tall devil with stubby wings, grinning.

The ninja did not flinch, not even moving a muscle, returning his look steadily.

"Hey, chickie. So you're the unholy terror that does the dirty work around here. Nice to meet a fellow killer. The name's Qarr, of course."

"I am Therkla, the most skillful of my master's assassins."

"So they say… But times are a-changing. Your master brought me in for some big-time projects, and some of them take—"

Another pop, and she spun around at his vanishing.

_pop_ "—a little something extra."

A hiss and a lance of orange light. She tumbled away from it, a shuriken halfway into her hand. _No! Not in your master's room, you don't._ She got back to her feet and tried to resume a dignified stance. _Simple steel wouldn't work on him anyway._ Then she caught the whiff of smoke, and her hand went back, trembling as it found the uneven ends of her ponytail.

"See? Now, we can work together, and it'll work out all right just as long as you – hey!" Qarr flapped hard, dodging up and over the blurring shuriken. "You've got some nerve!"

Therkla leapt forward, one fist lashing out at him.

He calmly vanished, then reappeared behind her again. "Now, I'm willing to ignore that – oof!"

She watched as her thrown miniature club slammed him into the wall, leaving him reeling and weaving through the air. Looking to her master, she took heart to see him nod, especially as he smiled slightly more than his previous nod during the devil's gloating.

Kubota stepped forward. "Now that the two of you have shaken hands, let us be perfectly clear. You do not have to like each other, but you will work together to carry out my orders. I understand that Shojo is consulting angels on an unusually frequent basis. If we are to succeed in keeping that fool confounded, it will require cunning, and that will require very precise maneuvers. Do you understand?"

Therkla immediately placed one fist in the other hand and bowed. "Yes, Master Kubota. Your plans will not fail. I will not allow it."

Qarr regained his airborne stance. "Sure thing, boss. Anyone gets in our way, they're going down."

"Good. Then come along. It is time to receive my messengers for today." He strode from the room.

The other two remained, staring at each other unwaveringly. Eventually, Therkla exhaled and extended one empty hand. "I'll let you kill the first one that disappoints our Master."

Qarr's glare softened, then he grinned and shook the proffered hand with vigor. "Done deal, sister."


	12. Daddy's Little Girl

**Prompt #12 – "witch" (Family)**

"Did you pack your toothbrush?"

"Mom…"

"And a warm coat? Socks and underwear?"

"Mom!"

"Come on, Sarah, don't be such a worrywart." Eugene swept his little daughter (already wearing her nearly-as-warm coat) into a big hug, though she was already nearly as tall as him. "Everything's already stowed in her dorm. She's all prepared like a caster should be, right Julia?"

She allowed herself a slight smile. "Yeah, Dad."

Her mother rubbed her daughter's shoulders. "All right, then… but I want you to Send to us every week! Get one of the teachers to help, that's what they're for!" She smiled also, kissed Julia on the cheek, then returned to packing up a box of food.

Eugene leaned in and whispered, "Don't mind her, she just wants to be sure you don't go cutting off all your hair or anything."

"I won't, Dad. I promise."

Finally, Sarah closed up the package, but she did not approach the lingering bits of luggage in the den. "Maybe… Julia, check your room one more time, just to be sure."

"Mom, I've got everything! I'm ready to go!"

Sarah's wrinkling eyes flitted to the window. "What about your pillow? An umbrella? And you should take another couple more towels just in case—"

"Sarah." His voice cut in, flat and terse. "He's not coming."

"Eugene, don't start again with this—"

"He's not coming! That deadbeat doesn't even care about his own sister's future! That's his loss, and we're not wasting time worrying about that!"

"You don't know that, don't go putting words in his mouth!"

"Hey!" Julia broke in. "If I don't leave soon, I'll miss meeting up with my dorm leader. I've got to go, Mom!"

"Of course, dear," Eugene assented. He gave one more look to Sarah. "We're all ready, Sarah."

She wavered, then relaxed and smiled again, embracing Julia warmly. "My little girl, already a spellcaster. We're proud of you, Julia. Be good out there."

Julia wriggled from the final kiss. "Mom…"

"All right, Sarah, time to go." The two stepped back and picked up the last few cases, Julia half-returning her mother's wave. "Teleport!"

The world blacked out and squeezed in on Julia for that one instant before opening up again into the sunlit, saltwater air and looming towers of Cliffport's finest magical academy. As her father gave her his own farewell hug and kiss, she smiled, letting his repeated adorations wash over her, him talking of what she'd already become and what lay in store for her. "I'll be fine, Dad."

"Oh, I know you will. You'll be perfect. I love you, Julia."

"Me too, Dad." A pause. "Dad, let go."

"Right, of course." He gave another squeeze, then stepped back. He smiled through his tears. "Knock 'em dead. And I'll Send to you right after dinner tomorrow."

"Bye, Dad."

"G—goodbye, honey." He almost held back a sniffle, then managed, "Teleport!"

Gone. She was alone.

Her smile remained, and she cast a cantrip to levitate her jacket and sweatshirt off, leaving a midriff-revealing tanktop. Really, the idea that she was going to wander off to school and cut off all her hair… _That would totally ruin my look._

She waved to an upperclassman, who lumbered over to say hi and help bring her luggage up to her room. There was no hurry, especially seeing as her dorm leader's meeting wasn't actually scheduled until tomorrow.

Her schedule was wide open.


	13. Sonnet for the Dark Lady

**Prompt #13 – "scream" (Poetry/Romance)**

_With legs entangling his and wings a-flare,  
She kisses him upon a neck drawn tight.  
A gentle sweat adds luster 'neath her hair,  
Soft lashes shading eyes so keen and bright._

_Her fingers knead his back so rhythmic'lly,  
And tender coos escape her parted lips.  
With firmer, faster sways, she shows her glee  
Adorning chest and ears with playful nips._

_His arms 'round her, as strong as at the start,  
No longer stroke so much as they convulse.  
Exhausted, breathing hard, he bares his heart  
By gasping sobs to match his slowing pulse._

_With head thrown back, a smile lights her face.  
Her squeezes lend a dance to her embr—_

"Honey?"

The blond man paused in the middle of stroking his goatee, then caught his breath. "…Yes?"

"Honey, aren't you going to join in?" Her voice fell in breathy whispers as she looked back down at the beer-stained barbarian shuddering in her arms. "This one's barely got anything left."

His fingers flexed, but he kept his breath as steady as he could. "Darling, it's been ages since you've had a good one. I can't take that away."

"I know, oh I _know_, but it's no fun without a good finish." She wrenched the limp form up, its blue veins standing out on his bare back, and she brushed her curly black locks back from her eyes. "Get in here."

His chest heaving, he slipped a carefully-sheathed dagger out of his pocket and knelt down to feel the exposed, knotty muscles. Ears pounding, he listened as the form between them gurgled with a throat full of tears, and he grinned to see the sweat beading and trickling down that back.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, much more color flowed down that back. Only then did the bestial shriek echo throughout the alleys as she planted a firm kiss on his neck and the blade entered his kidney, then twisted.


	14. A Warrior Long in Tooth

**Prompt #14 – "werewolf" (Adventure/Supernatural)**

The man in ragged clothes ran as fast as he could along the wall's base, doing his utmost to keep his steps light. Already, he could hear noises from all directions of the courtyard - metal boots pounding down stairs, doors opening and quickly closing, shouts, beckons, orders. He ducked behind the idiotic ornamental shrubberies at the edges of the walkways, then held his breath as still as his body.

The troops stampeded past, hailing the castle as they approached. None looked around or slowed.

As they receded, Hitoshi cautiously stood up and continued creeping along the wall. The clouds shut out the light, but he considered himself pretty good at seeing in the dark. From this vantage point, he measured the opposite wall's length, again going over the message in his head.

"Your appeal will fail, and you will be convicted of treason. The master has need of your services. If you wish to escape a life sentence, you must follow these orders."

Of course, he had heard of Kubota; anyone with any eye on politics knew him. He didn't trust the man any further than he could throw him, but seeing as the message was delivered verbally by his cell's guard, Hitoshi figured the man stood a fair chance of springing him.

Granted, he hadn't expected the alarm to go out quite so soon. The guard's lockpicks and information on the rounds had worked fine, but obviously he wasn't getting any extra room to breathe. He'd had to sneak attack a guard with his chamber pot to clear that one hallway. But now, all that stood between him and his new job was a courtyard and a rope hung from a specific guard tower.

His target should be… _there_.

A quick glance around, a deep breath, then he broke cover and dashed across the lawn. _Almost there…_

He heard the clank before he saw the shape. A guard, one single scrawny frigging guard, lumbered out of a doorway. The man stumbled in his own armor but was closer to the rope than he was.

For a split second, their eyes met. _Damn it all… If that guy so much as yells, "Help," I'm screwed!_

The next instant, the guard narrowed his eyes and charged him.

It took one instant more for Hitoshi to get over his surprise. Then his hand flitted to a pocket and pulled out a knife, a souvenir from his castle escape. _Even my Climb skill won't outrun his yell. So let's shut him up._ He sprang forward, knife lashing out, but the guard tackled him with both arms, pushing the wrists up and away. Hitoshi caught the blow by falling back and spinning, diverting the guard's momentum around him.

The man tumbled to the grass with a muffled clank but immediately pushed himself to his hands and knees, spinning to face his target before springing to his feet and charging again. Unfortunately, he'd lost his helmet in the process, so when Hitoshi repeated the maneuver, the impact shook him up much worse. Still, he got back to his feet, just in time for the chunk of metal to swing and smash him in the nose. He staggered back quite a few steps, clutching his skull and wincing horribly.

Hitoshi switched the bulky weapon to his off hand, readying his knife to finish the job. He smirked to see the man that hadn't even armed himself. Even the moon was out from the clouds, so he had a well-illuminated view of this idiot, reeling and utterly helpless.

Then the guard stiffened, gritted his teeth, and opened his eyes.

That glare stopped the rogue cold. _What… what the hell is happening to his face?_

The guard's shoulders and arms seized up and started twitching. His nose and mouth began jutting out from his skull, and he grunted with a strangled voice as his teeth lengthened and sharpened in his gaping mouth. His fingernails grew into points while his fingers shrunk, and he staggered back and forth as he grew taller. His legs and arms lengthened, becoming leaner and sharper.

Hitoshi sweated and grew nauseous. _Twelve Gods, what is he… knees are not supposed to bend that way!_

The _creature's_ tongue began lolling from his fanged mouth, and his hair went lighter, then spread across his face, hands, and arms. His armor began creaking, then suddenly, it burst at the joints, and his clothing ripped at every seam. With a snarl, the giant wolf dropped to all fours, only needing to raise its head slightly to glare into the eyes of its prey.

Teeth chattering, Hitoshi became aware of a couple of thumps, metal on grass. _Oh right… I had weapons in those hands. Crap._

The wolf howled, sprang once, and tackled the human, flying through the air and slamming him to the earth in a full-body pin.

The man felt the warm breath blast across his face, a barrage of growls and barks deafening him, his eyes crossing to see the yellowed dagger-like teeth inches from his face, and vaguely aware that some poor bastard was screaming at the top of his lungs.

**EARLIER**

The captain on duty dashed down the hall. "Prisoner escape! Gatekeepers, lock down! Squadron eight, you're with me!"

A set of soldiers readied their halberds, then fell into formation.

Leading them at a run to the nearest gate, the captain spied one extra soldier lumbering down the hallway, clanking in his armor. "Sentry, get to your post!"

The man looked up in a panic, mouth moving but not replying.

"You're just coming onto duty? You're late, but for now, follow me to reinforce the castle!"

The assembled troops charged through the now-unlocked gate without looking back. The guard wavered, then ran in loping strides after them. He tripped and fell almost immediately.

**A FEW MINUTES EARLIER**

The man slunk along the lengthening shadows of the courtyard, clutching a cloth around his naked waist. _Clothing? I need some of that, right? Then I can return and look for him._ He ducked into the first doorway he found.

Fortunately, the guards were manning windows that faced outside the walls, minus a few wandering the corridors and joking around.

He did not stop to listen, although his nose twitched continually as he crept and darted through the hallways. Finally, he found a room. _Weapons?_ Indeed, it was the armory, and someone had left behind a shirt and pants among the sets of armor. Rather than puzzle out their purposes and separate them, the man put on one of everything, then left the room.

Nose twitching again, the man traveled just far enough to realize he was lost when the alarm went out.

**EVEN EARLIER**

Argent bounded after the tiny white housecat scampering across the lawn. Inch by inch, he closed the gap until finally, he dipped down his nose and thumped the kitty in the back.

The cat fell to the ground, then got back up, meowing energetically, but Argent had already begun running elsewhere.

With the chase reversed, they zigged and zagged across the courtyard, leaping the bushes, weaving around trees, veering along the base of the castle itself—

The crash sent Argent stumbling head over feet. There was no telling from how high up it had fallen, and something dark and sticky was already spreading from his head…

**QUITE EARLIER**

Pushing his giant two-part cart on wheels, a man in a ripped and stained uniform entered a workshop full of beakers, cauldrons, and giant books of runes. He ignored all of them, wheeling the squeaky cart alongside the stone-topped benches. With his back popping, he fished out a bucket of assorted trash and dumped it into one half of the cart, then swapped it for the bucket of paper, which went to the other half.

Squeaka, squeaka, down the line, trash and paper, trash and paper, trash and—

_Tarnation!_ This bin felt too heavy on one side, and he fished out a bottle full of a navy blue potion. Its stopper held tight, but the man scowled anyway. _Good-for-nothing ingrates… Can't even empty out their own castoffs, and this is the _last_ time I'm gonna let them put glass into this bin! I could've done sliced my hand open for all they care!_

He stalked over to the highest surface he saw – at least, one he could reach. In this case, it was the windowsill. _They think this all just does itself? See how they like it, they can dispose of this on their own, don't see me messing up their work, if I ever caught my kids pulling a stunt like that…_

Grumbling to himself, the man coaxed his creaking cart back out of the room. Back at the open window, the wind began to pick up and whistle along and around the occupied sill.

**WAY EARLIER**

The apprentice in sky-blue robes scurried into the laboratory. His eyes darted across the benches, then he started pulling open cabinets. Digging out a pair of gloves, goggles, tongs, a metal frame, a funnel, and a bottle with stopper, he carried it all in a heap to the burbling beaker sitting over a slow flame.

He strapped his goggles on tight, then pulled on his gloves. Taking his time, he inspected the bottle for cracks or spots. Finding none, he set it in the frame, bracing it upright and adding the funnel. Staring at the beaker, he counted the seconds between each bubble, then extinguished the small flame. Gingerly, he clamped the tongs around the beaker. Squeezing just firmly enough, he lifted the glassware, carried it to the bottle, and ever so smoothly tipped it to a gentle incline.

The blue liquid fogged up the bottle a bit as it poured, but every drop slid into the glass gullet. Seconds passed… then more… until finally, the beaker hung upside-down and empty.

He set the beaker down on the bench evenly, then tried not to jostle the frame as he unclamped the bottle. Picking up the stopper in slow gloved hands, he ran through the mental checklist. _Temperature, color, viscosity…_ Half-consciously, he leaned over the neck of the bottle, inspecting it from above. The potion really was smoking—

His eyes screwed up, and he sneezed. He snorted his nose a bit, stopping himself from wiping on his sleeve, and then his eyes widened. The bottle of potion was now fizzing a bit and was glowing a slightly brighter shade of blue.

The call echoed through the doorway. "Hurry up, boy! It's just one Polymorph potion!"

Rapidly, he looked all around him, stopped up the bottle, then dashed over and crammed it into the depths of the fullest trash bin he could see. "It's not here, Master!"

"What?!" The bald, portly wizard waddled into the lab, then saw the empty beaker alongside the burner. (The apprentice tried to not stand too close to the cabinet that suddenly held the goggles, tongs, and all the rest.) "But it was just here, how could it… Onoda! I knew that lowlife got into my potion stores! I'll fix him!" He strode back out, the other one swallowing, lowering his head and scurrying after.

**ACTUALLY A BIT LATER**

Hinjo always enjoyed the view of the castle when he entered the inner courtyard, beholding its lofty yet solid towers and walls. Standing tall yet forthright and firm, as the lord of Azure City should be. Hopefully, he could fulfill that duty one day. For now…

"Mr. Scruffy welcomes you back, Hinjo!"

He sighed to see his elderly uncle clutching his white cat. "Good evening, uncle. Are you prepared for the inspection?"

"Eh, what? Inspection? Mr. Scruffy thought you were coming to play with him!" The cat sat up a bit straighter, trying to not show interest.

"Uncle, we do this every month. Please, just this once, can you—"

"Oh, now you've made Mr. Scruffy sad." Lord Shojo held his cat up to his face. "Are you sad, Mr. Scruffy? Are you sad that Hinjo doesn't have time to play with you tonight?"

With a sigh, Hinjo replied, "Uncle… Here, I cannot spare the time personally, but perhaps I can make amends for having to cut off our last meeting so quickly." He called, "Argent, I choose you!"

The dire wolf appeared from thin air. At the sight, Mr. Scruffy sprang down, meowing eagerly, and Argent grinned and moved to lick the cat, who dodged and scampered around the wolf's heels.

"I have my doubts about leaving them alone together, but we must meet the warden in five minutes."

"Oh, don't you worry so much, Hinjo," said Lord Shojo, steering his nephew inside. "It won't do any harm at all."

**BACK TO THE PRESENT**

Still pinned to the earth, Hitoshi half thought he could count the massive wolf's nose hairs. His throat had gone silent from hoarseness, and through the beast's low growls, he could hear the tramping of hurried metal boots and calls of men.

He was glad of it. Already, his temples were wet with tears, his face was sticky with warm saliva, and (he just realized) his upper legs were warm and wet with something else.


	15. Inn His Element

**Prompt #15 – "costume" (Family)**

Smoke hung over the laughing, arguing, and conversing travelers in the bar's back wing, while the main dining area enjoyed relatively clear air (plus the occasional smells of spilled beer and roast meat). The aproned waitresses weaved serpentine paths all around the tables, smiling warmly, scooping up empty dishes and setting down full ones with hands even surer than their steps.

Even so, none could quite match the pace of the woman with one blond braid down the back of her clean white sleeveless top. She slipped with perfect timing around busboy carts and drunken staggering men alike, her own tray of drinks level and calm. Each patron got the right order, with plates and mugs tucked snugly into place no matter how crowded the table. And she noticed every joke and comment (and, truth be told, poke or pinch), grinning brightly or laughing heartily as fit each one.

The door swung open, wafting in a brief chill of fog. "Evening, dearie!"

"Good to see you back on your feet, Brezock! A mauled leg and you're up already?"

"You almost sound surprised. Wouldn't miss your Friday night special!"

Pausing in her walk, she laid a hand on the table he approached, the one with the very low-slung tablecloth. "Sorry, honey – this one's reserved tonight."

"Eh, what? No space for your favorite fighter?"

She winked at him. "You'll see soon. Let me get you a got-well-soon drink, on me."

He grinned and took off his helmet. "Oh, twist an old campaigner's arm, why don't you?"

There was still plenty of room to lean on the bar and swap stories with the other lingering drinkers. They weren't much for people-watching, but they couldn't help noticing when a little hand reached up from behind the bar and set a lit candle in a dish up on top. They turned to see more candles appear one by one down to the end, giving a moderate field of light.

A waitress approaching the kitchen door with half-empty salad bowls stumbled in mid-step as something crossed her path at high speed. Her squeal of surprise got covered by the clatter of crashing wood, but in the next moment, a rosy-cheeked blond boy in green tunic and shorts leapt atop the empty table.

He called out, "Ladies and gennelmen!"

Folks turned to hear the piping voice, and a few smiled to see him toting a miniature stringed instrument.

He went on, "Welcome, one and all!" Taking up his instrument, he plucked one string and sang with quavery notes. "_We're glad that you're here at our bar._" He froze, glanced down to find the second string, and plucked. "_We hope you're happy as we are._" One string per line, he strutted around the table. _"If you are hungry, thirsty too, we'll serve good food and drinks to you!"_ He swung his arms wide and bowed, to the sound of scattered and light applause.

Now settled on a stool, Brezock chuckled. "Elan's giving his big day-byoo, is he?"

The managing waitress blinked at the wetness in her eyes, having taken up station behind the bar to watch her son. "Yes..." Then she gasped in shock.

The blond boy had leapt into the air, flipping head over feet, and he hit the floor with an "oomph," knees bent all the way but still on his feet. Then he smiled and straightened up to much greater applause. He looked towards the bar in time to see his mommy covering her relieved expression with a napkin, though still watching him intently. He grinned, then called to the crowd. "No matter who you are or where you come from, we welcome you! Sit here, and hear the stories of brave guys – and girls – from everywhere!" He turned and dove beneath the tablecloth.

A few people in the back got up to look, but only the nearest heard the clanks of metal and thumps of wood before the cloth lifted up and Elan crawled back out.

He stood up, holding a barbeque fork and wearing a flat helmet that fell just above his eyes, red feathers stuck around the rim. He bellowed out, "You may meet me, Boris, the innivinsable Crimson Knight!" He flexed his skinny arms and strutted around the tables. "I have slain a hundred dragons and chased a hundred girls! All in one month!"

At the farthest round table, half a dozen knights guffawed and pounded the back of the man who grinned and hoisted his mug at the figure diving away again.

This time, he emerged wearing a tan sash frantically knotted around his waist plus an orange one around his forehead, wielding half a broomstick. He sighted along it at the nearest hulking brute. "Watch your hands when you drink with me, Meiling the mountain monk! I can punch through walls and break armor with my lightning fists!"

The woman in the tan-with-orange-trim robes at the end of the bar observed this portrayal without a flicker in her face.

Elan still looked to his immediate audience. He hopped around, thwacking his stick on chair legs (plus surprisingly few human legs) left and right. "No one knows more about working a staff than I do! I can chop down trees and flatten men and—" The sash slipped over his face, and he skidded to a stop, then quickly stood up straight. "And I can do it all blindfolded!" He spun himself and his weapon around, though he kept in a _very_ tight circle.

The woman's mouth turned up, and she inclined her own glass as she flicked a couple copper pieces into the tip jar across the room.

Elan (lifting the sash first) retreated just a bit longer, before he reappeared with a shaggy brown towel draped around his shoulders and a circle of woven grass on his head. He smiled shyly, "And you could meet me, Daine, the smartest and prettiest druid ever!"

From her quiet corner, the old woman in brown robes lifted her frizzled grey head at the glances turning in her direction.

Elan strode with measured steps. "I have flown on the backs of eagles and run races with wolves. I have shared stories with them." He dropped his voice to a hoarse growl. "And I can tell you stories from the bears—" a flute-like trill "or the robins—" a lip-sputtering snort "or the horses!"

The regulars all raised their drinks to her, and her corncob-toothed smile glinted as she sniffled a bit and waved back to the stately boy in his towel.

He grinned, ducked away, then sprang out the table's back side, climbing up onto Brezock before hopping onto the bar. Clad in his little apron, he gave the crowd a brilliant smile, opened his hands wide to them, and declared, "Welcome, one and all, and thank you for joining us at the best inn ever!" He leaned back and kissed his mommy on the cheek.

The applause and table-pounding filled the tavern, half-covering Elan's replies of, "Thank you, I'm here all week!" and "Try the beef stew!"

His mother kissed him on his own cheek, then murmured in his ear, "Bravo, Elan. Two thumbs up." She whisked him off of the bar, and for the rest of the night, she had an extra pair of hands racing after her with a modestly-laden tray.

The hours blurred past, and Elan even got to stay long enough to walk one droopy-mouthed farmer to the door.

His mother swept him up in a hug. "You did great, honey."

"Thanks, mommy." He nuzzled his face into her hair. "Although..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I couldn't have fit all twenty-three costumes under that table, but I bet I could've fit at least another four or five."

His mother simply squeezed him extra hard, then set him down. "But this way left plenty of room for you, and what do you always say about stories?"

He beamed up. "Great stories need great players."

"Right you are." She kissed his forehead. "And now it's curtain time."

"Good night, mommy." He hugged her and scampered off to bed.


	16. Go Directly To Jail

**Prompt #16 – "games" (Friendship/Hurt/Comfort)**

The monster looked up at the double marching sound of sharp feet.

The hobgoblins were thirty yards away from him when the one on the right stumbled on a crack in the stone floor. His grip loosened for an instant-

The scarred man between the guards wrenched his arm free, punched the opposite hobgoblin in the throat, and freed his other arm in time to shove away his earlier captor.

The hobgoblin lunged to seize his prisoner, but he met an agile grip that swung him around and past his target. He hit the floor hard, and he saw stars for a second before he felt a weight on the small of his back.

"Smite Evil!" A fist met the base of a neck, just above the armor. Even before the body went still, the man in rags spun himself back around to go for the other-

The armored punch sent him sprawling, and the wheezing hobgoblin strode one step closer to stomp the prone human in the ribs. "Stay down, dumbass. You're asking for another round with the Supreme Leader."

The man's arms flexed, and he scowled, but he did not rise.

The hobgoblin socked him once more in the head for good measure, and then he heaved him up and flung him into the cage, slamming the lock home.

As the dragging steps receded, the monster looked out of his shadowed box at the man pushing himself to an upright, glaring, seated position. "Hello again, Mr. Stiffly! It's almost dinnertime - you wanna play a quick game of Candy Land first?"

/ / /

Two hobgoblins marched into the room, keeping the blindfolded prisoner in their sight, his skin nearly covered with black-and-blue welts. Deftly, one of them opened the cage and stood back. When the man did not move, the other guard smirked and kicked one clawed foot into the back of the prisoner's knee.

The man seethed through his teeth and slumped severely, barely staying on his feet at a crazy angle.

The steel-armored tackle flung him into the cage anyway.

As the door slammed and the steps retreated, he lay on his stomach. Gingerly, he flexed a joint or two, faintly grimacing beneath the blindfold at the feelings of splinters and breaks.

The monster set his plush dragon aside. "Hey there, Mr. Stiffly! Wanna play some checkers?"

/ / /

These two hobgoblins wore long gloves, and they kept the prisoner nearly at arm's reach before they shoved him into the cage.

Unbound, he lay on his back, twitching as the remaining spiders and millipedes crawled across his red-pocked skin. His welts had swollen and bloated all across his limbs and torso, some bursting with green pus, and his eyes flitted aimlessly across his cage's ceiling. Now and again, his rapid breathing brought some clear sharpness to his face before it flickered and faded again. He only jerked his head when the hungry creatures scurried near his eyes.

The monster paused in the act of lifting his stew bucket. "Wow, that's a new one, Mr. Stiffly! Ooh - you wanna play a game of Life?"

/ / /

The hobgoblins gripped his arms as tightly and roughly as they liked, knowing that his hands were busy.

As soon as he hit the metal floor, he curled up, clutching his chest and stomach against the red flow seeping through his fingers. His sweaty eyes squeezed shut, and his lips moved rapidly, with the words "am in your hands" and "not forsaken me" barely audible. His fingers barely held his sliced torso together, and the shine of a tubular intestine nearly showed through his streaming red grip.

For a few seconds, the monster waited and listened. "Hey, you wanna play Operation?"

/ / /

They flung him into the cage, and he flopped onto his back without a sound. Slam, click, walk away...

The monster looked up from his collection. "Mr. Stiffly?"

The crumpled form did not answer.

The monster looked really, really closely. "Mr. Stiffly?"

The scar-slashed chest rose and fell with thin, shaky motions. His skin had gone as thin and pale as parchment, and it barely stretched over prominent ribs and bony limbs. Among the webs of scars carved into his body, fresh red wounds gaped where chunks of flesh had been ripped out. The ragged splits and gashes across his face, neck, and chest burbled red with every shuddering, wordless breath.

The monster stared at the man collapsed on the cold metal, stared at the slack, unseeing eyes.

Besides the bubbling noises, he heard nothing.

"W...

"...

"...Wanna play Sorry?"


	17. Big Gain Hunters

**Prompt #17 – "eyes of newt" (Adventure/Friendship)**

The butterfly floats and circles around my snout, and it's a very pretty blue color, kinda like me. It flies to a bunch of flowers down the hill. I've never seen so many colors, so many sweet smells-

"Enor! Quit lagging behind!"

I look up, and Gannji has his angry face again. "But they're so nice. Can't we take a few with us?"

"For the last time, no! This is supposed to be an ambush - we've got to reach the mountains _before_ the caravan. Move it!"

"Hmph. Why are we here if we can't even enjoy it?"

"Sometimes I wonder why you're here, too."

Why's he so angry? I didn't want to leave the desert, but this place, this forest is really nice. Kinda cold and dark, but it smells good. Anyway, it was his idea to come here, hiring me last week. Too bad for him if he's angry about it now.

We get to a bunch of water. I remember something from the mountains - this is a _river_.

Gannji mutters, "All right, almost there. But we need to find a narrower spot, because it's too deep to walk through."

"Walk? Huh, don't need to walk." I flap my wings, and I'm over the water in no time.

"Hey, I told you to stick close to me! At least help me get across!"

The little lizardfolk looks even smaller than usual from this side. "If you're so smart, you figure it out." Then I see something new, a little bit of orange.

I barely hear Gannji yell, "What are you doing? Don't leave!"

It's a tiny little creature, kinda shaped like Gannji, but only as big as my finger. It's sitting on a river rock, staring at me with big black eyes. "Hi, little guy." Its eyes are all shiny, and it looks at me with one side of its head, then the other. I reach out, and it jumps away, but I catch it.

Across the river is the sound of running feet and a jump. Gannji is hopping over rocks, and he goes for the biggest jump. He spins his arms when he slips over the last rock, yelling, "Son of a-" before he hits the water.

I laugh and laugh, so much that I can barely breathe. Then I feel the little critter trying to run away, and I hold it very carefully.

Gannji pops out of the water, paddling for shore and crawling out. He spits out the muddy water, then reaches for his backpack and digs through it. "Frigging hell. If the potions got wrecked..."

I hold out my new friend. "Gannji! Look at this little guy!"

He glances up. "It's a newt, so what? It's not even a reptile." He drains the water from his pack. "Both bottles are still corked up tight, thank the gods, but the rations-"

"Can we keep him, Gannji? Can we?"

"Wait, what? No - no way are you bringing a pet."

"But..." My lip shakes, and I think I might cry.

"Quit looking at me like that!"

I bet the little newt is crying, too. I hold him up, with his little orange head and shiny black eyes.

"...All right, fine. But no more griping. We need to be really quiet the rest of the way."

Why would I gripe? I'm so happy as he leads us up into the hills, the little newt crawling all over my arm. It tickles when he crosses my shoulders, but I stay real quiet.

When we get to a cliff on the other side of the hill, Gannji holds up a hand. "Shhh..."

I don't see anything, and then Gannji points. Way down below, there's a line of elves emerging from the woods and approaching the rockier ground near us. Their feet don't make any noise at all, but the human in black snaps branches and rattles rocks with every step.

Gannji whispers, "That's our mark - their spy, Klottar. We get that guy back to the Empire, and we're set for months." He slides one special arrow out and fits it into his crossbow. "Remember, we take the druid out first, and then we... what are you doing?"

I'm trying to keep my newt from squirming away. "He's scared, Gannji!"

He waves me quieter and hisses, "Let it go, then!"

"What? No, I can't-"

"They'll be here any second! I'm not fighting rangers in the forest without an element of surprise!"

"I'm _not_ gonna let him go!"

Gannji bounces a bit on his feet, and he looks back at the approaching elves, then at me, back and forth. He grits his teeth, then darts over to the woods with his knife. He cuts a few vines from a tree trunk, and he fishes in his pocket for a handkerchief. He ties a few knots then runs back to me and says, "Hold out your arm."

In a moment, he's tied a little sling pouch near my shoulder.

"It's for your newt, see? Here, let's get him safe in there." Gently, he takes him from my hands and slips him into the pouch, tying him safely inside.

The little guy's still whipping his head all around, and his eyes look frantic to me. "Why's he still-"

A soft thump and a crack, and Gannji's cut into a rotten log. He pulls a couple handfuls of something, and he scurries back to me. He reaches to my newt, holding out a big fat bug.

The little guy's eyes focus on the bug, and he snatches it out of Gannji's fingers, swallowing it quickly.

I'm amazed. "He was hungry... and you figured it out."

"Wasn't too hard." Gannji quickly gives him another couple of big bugs, muttering, "This isn't the first time I've had to notice that."

My stomach starts grumbling too.

Gannji mutters, "Exactly. That'll have to do for now." He dusts his hands off and grabs his crossbow.

The little guy's much calmer, maybe even sleepy. "What a nice guy."

The bow fires, and someone down below yells out. I get to the edge of the cliff, but I flinch away and protect my arm when more arrows start flying back at us.

"Aaargh!" Gannji clutches his shoulder with an arrow in it, then he yells, "No!" But the crossbow slips from his fingers and down the cliff.

I'm already diving from the cliff, aimed straight at the elves. They raise their bows at me, and the druid is gripping Gannji's magic arrow and saying some kind of spell.

I hold one claw over the newt, and two arrows bounce off of my armor while the other two hit my arm and shoulder. Breathing deep, I open my mouth and blast them with lightning.

One elf dodges left, another right, and the other three drop to the ground smoking, including the one in the robes. One elf gets back to his feet, but his eyes open wide when he sees that I've got my old hammer out.

The arrow gets me in the chest, and my hammer gets him in the stomach. I feel something scratch me in the back, and I take another swing as I turn around. My hammer cracks into the fifth elf's head.

They're all on the ground, and then I hear, "He's getting away!"

I look where Gannji's pointing, and the human is running back towards the forest.

"Get after him! Wait, what are you doing?"

I've flown back up the cliff, and I reach Gannji while he's got one of those potions out. I fly around him and grab him under the arms.

"Hey, don't - aaahh!"

I've jumped back off, and his voice really hurts my head. "Quit yelling. You're faster than I am. You gotta be here if we're gonna catch him."

"Aaahh, aaahh... okay, all right, just put me down real carefully. And let me get my crossbow!"

Back on the ground, he snatches up his crossbow and reaches for his bag again. Then he pauses, "...Thanks, Enor."

"You're welcome, Gannji."

"All right... yeah, you saved me a Levitate potion, so here's the other one." He hands me the green bottle.

"The healing potion?"

"Yeah, you earned it." He smiles up at me, then his smile falls and his eyes go wide.

I look down and see the loose bandanna, empty.

Gannji stammers, "Ah, crap - I'm sorry, big guy. It must've happened during the fight."

I can still imagine his bright, shiny eyes. "I... It's... it's okay." I sniff, and I say, "Really, it's okay." I look back at him, try to smile, and I pat my hammer into my hand. "He'll be all right. But there's someone else that's not getting away from me."

Gannji grins again. "Me either. I'll race ya."

He loads his crossbow, I drink the potion, and he leads me running into the woods. I can almost smell that human already.


End file.
